


Nearly Witches (enivrer mon amour)

by Auber_Gine_Dreams



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Hate Sex, Hybday 2020, Infidelity, M/M, Seonghwa turns into a cat because Magic, Temporary Character Death, Witches, forced soul bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29074629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auber_Gine_Dreams/pseuds/Auber_Gine_Dreams
Summary: Seonghwa slams his fist into the door.“What were you thinking? Why did you use this spell? You realize we’re stuck like this forever, right?”“You weren’t supposed to be there,” San hisses. “None of this was supposed to happen.”“You were supposed to be alone,” Seonghwa growls back. San sucks in a breath. “You had me cornered. What was I supposed to do?”“He was just another notch on your belt. Another body to boast about.” It’s easier to talk about Wooyoung like this, when anger clouds the grief. “He’s — he was —”Anger evaporates, replaced by aching loneliness. He pounds his fist weakly on the door. “Wooyoung was everything to me. Why would I not take everything from you?”Or, San stops a powerful witch, but it comes with a price.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung/Park Seonghwa, Choi San/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 25
Kudos: 159





	Nearly Witches (enivrer mon amour)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agonies (Hyb)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyb/gifts).



> **ADDITIONAL NOTES/WARNINGS:**  
>  This fic deals pretty heavily with the idea of infidelity, including the hurt and guilt surrounding it. While the fics ends happily and there are extenuating circumstances, if this topic is a bad subject for you please take care and back out now. 
> 
> I've tried my best to treat this fic and the topics in it with care, and I hope that's reflected in the final product. If there's anything I haven't tagged that you feel should be please don't hesitate in letting me know.
> 
> Before Hyb's birthday I was given a laundry list of things she wanted to see in Ateez fic. Instead of being a normal person and breaking them all up I said Okay. Bet. And here we are with this baby. This is extremely late but I hope it's everything you wanted it to be <333
> 
> I have a [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7BxG6dn9BGx9mFVkMMZ6NR?si=nyPUZfd3SQOlR-URlN5KwA) for this if you're so inclined! The songs aren't in any particular order so feel free to shuffle and see how it goes ;;;;
> 
> Title is from "Nearly Witches (Ever Since We Met)" by Panic at the Disco

_Both boys have perfect teeth, dark hair, soft hands._ _  
_ _The one in front will want to take you apart, and slowly..._ _  
_ _You could love this boy with all your heart._ _  
_ _The other only wants to stitch you back together._ _  
_ _The sun shines down. It's a beautiful day._ _  
_ _Consider the hairpin turn. Do not choose sides yet._ _  
_ _-Richard Siken_

  
  
  


Here’s how it plays out in San’s mind. A quick illusion to hide from the cameras. Slip into the house, grab the amulet, slip out, get paid. The job is simple enough, and the pay is double his usual gigs. It must be powerful to be worth so much, but that part doesn’t matter. San will be home in time to go out for drinks.

In hindsight, it should have raised some red flags. Things in San’s world are rarely too good to be true.

Kang Yeosang is a rich man, and powerful, too. Top five richest men in Korea. That’s the thing about humans. They hold pretty trinkets in their hands and have no idea about their history, about the power contained in ancient things. It’s why San never feels guilty stealing from them. It’s taking back things that have always belonged to witches. It’s keeping humans from twisting that knob, from activating magic so dark they will turn to ash on the spot. It's for their own good, it's just a bonus that he makes a lot of money doing it

He's memorized the layout of the house. Guards at each entrance, rotating patrols. There is very little opportunity to slip inside. Thankfully he doesn't have to worry about that. A block from the mansion he starts chanting, draws a rune in black kohl on the back of his hand, and by the time he rounds the corner he's invisible. He strolls right through the gate and matches his footsteps to the guards he follows into the house. 

From here it's too easy. The room Yeosang keeps his treasures in is unguarded, no cameras, no security. It's awfully cocky to assume no one would make it into your home, but most humans don't believe witches exist (and even if they do, it's some twisted mockery of the truth that pales at the real deal). San waits for the guards to round the corner and slips inside. 

The room has trinkets Coven leaders would kill to see even a glimpse of. Tapestries, ancient weapons, jewelry made of ivory and jade. There are other things, too. Darker things. A book bound in witch skin rests behind glass on the far wall. San refuses to even make eye contact with it. It’s already calling to him enough. The amulet he’s been sent to retrieve is on a pedestal in the center of the room, thick paned glass surrounding it on all sides. He sends a wave of magic at it, testing for alarms or wards, anything that might bite him later. He can practically hear Wooyoung scoffing at him. It’s better to check and find nothing than to not check, and, well. 

No magical protections or security traps. San walks closer and lifts the glass. The amulet is alive in his hands, searing hot and ice cold all at once. Whispers, always whispers from these things. Magical items sense witches. Tempt them, too. San isn’t interested in the power behind the trinket in his hand, just in the surety of the wad of bills Hongjoong is going to hand him when the job is done. He opens the enchanted pouch at his waist, and just as he’s dropping the amulet in a wave of magic knocks him into the wall.

San loses the breath in his lungs at the impact, amulet flying out of his hand and landing who knows where. He sucks in desperate air and coughs, eyes scanning the room for the source of the blast. He stands on shaky legs. There’s a man in front of one of the floor to ceiling windows. He wasn’t there before. He’s tall, dark hair pushed out of his face. He’s strikingly handsome in a way that almost looks like illusion magic. There’s a brand on the side of his neck, the mark of the Covenless. 

San has heard about him. Park Seonghwa, rogue witch. He has killed dozens, or so the rumors say. He’s after the amulet. Witches like him are hungry for power, desperate to possess forbidden magic. 

Shit. 

Seonghwa walks closer, eyes burning. San coughs and readies a spell, shoots a quick blast from his left hand that Seonghwa dodges easily. He surveys the room, eyes lingering over the book bound in witch skin a little too long for San’s liking. He fires a weaker but better aimed blast of ice that hits Seonghwa’s shoulder. He hisses, stumbling back into one of the pedestals. The glass crashes to the floor. San expects guards to come running but there’s nothing.

“They’ve been dealt with,” Seonghwa says with a grin, like he’s reading San’s mind. He might be. San didn’t ward himself against magic. He didn’t see the need. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

San takes a step away from the wall and Seonghwa sends a bolt of black flame like a bullet, fingers in the shape of a gun. It hits San in the shoulder, burns the whole way through and scorches the wall behind him, smoke curling into the air. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” San shouts, fighting the urge to cover the wound. He’s got to charge another spell. He’s got to get out of this house. 

The hit sends jolts of magic through his veins. His vision swims. He chants, purple flame glowing in his fist. San rolls forward and hurls the blast at Seonghwa. On his knees, he watches Seonghwa flip back, the flames just grazing the space between his neck and shoulder. He makes a pained sound, swaying on his feet as he charges another spell. 

San focuses on his magic, ignores everything else and listens to the way it calls. A friend. A foe, too. The veins in his left arm darken, light blue to darker, until his arm is criss-crossed with black. It burns, but he pays it no mind. Magic comes with a price, but San will worry about the cost later, when he’s back with — 

And then glass breaks. Both of them turn to look at the same time. There is Wooyoung, who is not supposed to be here. He promised San could have this one. Annoyance far outweighs fondness in the moment, even with the hole in his shoulder, the man standing between them, fist full of lighting. 

San and Wooyoung lock eyes. He sees the hole in San’s shoulder and concern flashes heavy across his brow. Anger, too. San opens his mouth to say something. Run, maybe. He won’t remember what it was, later, but it seemed important at the time.

Here’s how it plays out right in front of San’s eyes. Seonghwa, grin manic, hurls a bolt of lightning straight at Wooyoung’s chest. The hit staggers him, and before he can even start an incantation of his own a dagger follows the same path, embedding right where his heart is.

Wooyoung’s eyes are wide. He glances to San, opens his mouth to speak, maybe. And then he falls from the same window he came through. San doesn’t hear him hit the ground, though he’s not really listening for it. The fall isn’t enough to kill him, but the knife — 

He screams. He remembers the feeling of it more than the sound, like something alive ripping its way out of his body. His eyes find Seonghwa again. He’s smug, triumph all over his face. He opens his mouth to say something cutting, San is sure of it. Something like, _don’t fret, it’s your turn next._ He’s going to be sick thinking about it.

There is a saying about cornering a wild animal. It slips his mind in the moment, like so many things now and even more later. But the feeling of it, the intent, is crystal clear to him. If Wooyoung were next to him, he would warn about consequences, acting without thinking, about doing something he can’t take back. But that’s the thing. Wooyoung isn’t here at all. He’s bleeding out under the window of a rich man’s house. Or maybe he’s in the pit of hell, shaking the Devil’s hand or whatever it is witches do when they die. San has run out of options, useless arm and low magic. He didn’t prepare enough spells for this. It was supposed to be _easy_. 

The words start out so soft he only knows he’s saying them because his lips touch together. Seonghwa stares at him with a hand on his hip. Cocky. He hasn’t even charged another spell. 

San lets his breath out slowly. He’s the kind of calm that comes right before a big job. He closes his eyes, opens them, says the final line of the spell and hurls magic that hits Seonghwa in the center of his chest.

Here’s how it ends. San running as fast as his legs will carry him, black ichor leaking from the hole in his shoulder. The sound of the house alarm blaring, the footsteps of armed men. Wooyoung, dagger to the chest (there was no time to look for the body, San will say later, a hushed whisper to his reflection). And Seonghwa, a black cat cradled in the crook of his arm, unconscious. 

🜍🜍🜍

San met Hongjoong by chance while he was interning with the Union of Covens. It was a job more than a career. There was nothing he really wanted to do, nothing that sparked his interest. It paid well, though. And then he bumped into Hongjoong in the hall, met him for drinks later, and the rest as they say, is history. 

Hongjoong exists on the fringes of the Covens, not really belonging to any but working for the betterment of all. The same is true for everyone who works with him. It would make sense for Hongjoong to be a part of the Union, then, but he isn’t. His outfit is run out of a nondescript building at the edge of the city, the blurred barrier where the realm of witches and the realm of humans meet. At night the barrier is more visible, a shimmering fog to the humans, soft, waving blue lights to the witches. 

San’s apartment (the one he shares with Wooyoung. _Shared_. He’s never going to get used to this) is a few blocks from the business. He fell asleep nearly nauseated from pain, the lights washing over him like ocean waves. He left the cat in the extra bedroom, laid him gently on the bed and locked the door behind him. 

He wakes up to an empty bed and a dull pain in his shoulder. The more awake he becomes the more it hurts. He didn’t even start any healing magic last night, too exhausted, too — 

He sees Wooyoung’s face, his wide eyes and the way his mouth hung open, at the end. He sits up all at once, puts his head between his knees and struggles to breathe. Wooyoung. God. Wooyoung.

  
  


San met Wooyoung his first week on the job, covered in grime but grinning like a madman. He had the highest success rate in artifact recon, Hongjoong informed him with a pleased smile. San remembers the spark of annoyance, the spark of interest. Wooyoung had brushed right past him and San never wanted someone to see him so much. 

If Wooyoung didn’t want to know his name, well, he would make him learn it.

Weeks to months to years. San took as many jobs as he could, succeeded even when he thought he might fail. His name crept up the enchanted ranking chart they kept in the lobby. Wooyoung, then San. Wooyoung, then San. Until Wooyoung bumped into him, purposeful, with enough force to stagger him in the hall.

“You’ll never beat me, Choi San. Your magic isn’t up to it,” he said. 

It was the first time San had seen him so close. Soft, dark hair, full lips, beauty mark under his eye. He was beautiful and it only made San want to ruin him, wipe the smugness off of him with blasts of fire and lightning.

“We’ll see about that,” San answered back, pushing past him with just as much force as Wooyoung had used on him. He’d felt that touch for a long time after, warm, like it was magic.

  
  


San takes his head out from between his knees and lets his hands fall slowly from his hair. He’s got to get up. If he doesn’t start healing his shoulder there might be permanent damage. The walk to the bathroom puts him right across from the second bedroom. There’s no sound from inside. 

The wound is ugly in the bright bathroom light, uglier still in the mirror. The skin around the hole is black, lines of it following his veins. He’s lucky it’s not poison. He holds his palm over the wound and starts chanting. 

The pain is immediate, sharp and hot. San keeps chanting. Though his voice rises, the words barely scrape past his teeth. It is a terrible thing to feel injuries heal under your hand. San is used to it, but it doesn’t get easier with time. When the spell is done he takes his hand away from his shoulder. Black residue stains his palm, but his shoulder is smooth. He takes a breath. There’s a crash in the room across the hall.

Oh. Maybe he felt it.

He crosses the hall and opens the door carefully. Seonghwa is on the bed. There’s a lamp on the floor, cracked but not completely broken. The cat’s bright green eyes narrow, ears flat. He looks as pissed off as a cat can.

“There’s hardly a point in this,” San says. He sounds like he’s been crying, voice cracked and raw. “Can you understand me? Yes or no?”

San sits on the bed and Seonghwa hisses, slashing out with his claws and catching his arm, tiny lines of blood left in his wake. It doesn’t really hurt, not in the way Seonghwa must want it to. San tugs on his hair and stares down at his legs. Everything is knotted up inside of him. Anger. Grief so strong he doesn’t even know where it’s hitting him.

“You filthy, _awful_ wretch.” San keeps his eyes locked with Seonghwa. “You’re stuck with me. Or has that not sunken in yet? Is anyone looking for you? Does a single person even care that you’re here?” Seonghwa’s eyes seem to widen at that. Good. San hopes it hurts. “Now _answer me_.”

Seonghwa stares at him, unblinking, for a long time. San is about to give up, lock the door and go back to his room, when Seonghwa finally nods his head. 

San sighs. “Good. Do you know anything about this spell?”

Seonghwa has become...well, the closest thing would be a Familiar. Not bound to his will, but bound to his life. The spell is an ancient one, one that San had no business ever learning but he did anyway. Back when he worked for the Union of Covens he came across it while filing books in the Library. He never told anyone about it, not even Wooyoung. There was something, a whisper in the back of his mind (always the whispers, but he wouldn’t learn that until later) that he should learn it. It might be the only thing that saves his life.

There are things he doesn’t know. Seonghwa might be a cat forever. He might live the average fifteen years of a house cat and then San will die right along with him. Maybe Seonghwa will jump out of the window and end this for both of them. 

He holds his paw in the air and does his best to wiggle it. _A little_ , is probably what he means.

“Are you going to stay like this?”

Seonghwa shakes his head.

“Okay. How long are you going to stay a cat?”

He does his best to shrug his shoulders. _I don’t know_.

San scrubs his face with his hands. There’s a strange, staticy feeling behind his eyes. Heavy and wet and all consuming. 

He weaves a spell and touches the back of Seonghwa’s neck. A collar appears and attaches itself to the headboard by a length of magic. Seonghwa growls.

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same thing.” San mutters _Covenless bastard_ under his breath. He knows Seonghwa can hear him, wants him to hear. “I won’t let you die. You have my word on that. But I can’t have you leave, not when you...” 

There’s too much he wants to say. _Not when you killed the love of my life. Not when my life is in your hands. Not when we don’t know what this spell has really done._

“You can’t leave.”

San stands and Seonghwa paces the length of the bed, sleek black fur glowing from the light of the enchanted collar. Seonghwa yowls when the door is shut.

San waits until he’s back in his bedroom to let the tears flow down his cheeks.

🜍🜍🜍

The first week is the hardest. There’s no funeral. It’s not a part of their customs, and Wooyoung’s parents are either gone or dead. He never told San much about them. There was still so much they didn’t know about each other. 

He spends too many days in bed, only getting up to drink an occasional glass of water and check on Seonghwa. After a few days he stops using the collar, paranoia about him turning human and killing him fading as grief swallows him whole. Instead he enchants the room, wards against any magic Seonghwa might try to use to escape and crawls back into bed. 

He thinks about Wooyoung too much, rolls over to his side of the bed and tries to breathe in his scent. The first time they kissed it was almost like a dare, Wooyoung’s eyes mocking him. There was desire underneath, evident in the way he pressed their bodies together, hands wound in San’s blonde hair, and it felt like a victory the entire time. He thinks about moving in together, how it just happened. Wooyoung stayed over at his place so often it was silly to have him pay for a flat across the city. Everything he owned was sneaking into San’s place anyway.

On the fourth day he drags himself into the shower, changes into fresh clothes, brushes his teeth. He forces himself to drink some medicinal tea and swears he can feel the ghost of Wooyoung’s hand on the small of his back. It’s crippling. He nearly drops to the kitchen floor.

The routine stays the same for two weeks. Shower. Clean clothes. Drink some broth, some tea. Check on Seonghwa. Try not to choke on the swirling sadness and rage. It’s almost anticlimactic how every time San opens the door Seonghwa is still a cat. He’s done a number on the curtains, ends shredded, and gives San the same narrow eyes and pinned back ears every time. He’s probably tired of being in the same room. San doesn’t really give a shit.

At the end of the third week, San opens the door and Seonghwa is on the bed, a man this time. He’s not wearing clothes, though that’s not what makes San slam the door shut and press his hands to the wood, weaving enchantment after ward with this breathing shallow and eyes screwed shut. Seonghwa’s eyes widened when he opened the door, mouth an _oh_ of surprise, a terrible echo of Wooyoung. He can’t do this.

San slumps to the floor and rests his head against the wood. There’s some shuffling on the other side, but he focuses on his breathing. The reality of the situation didn’t really sink in until he saw a man and not a cat. This is forever, now. Seonghwa is bound to his soul, his life, and there is no undoing it. Wooyoung is...well. And there’s no undoing that, either.

“I don’t even know your name,” Seonghwa says, his voice level with San’s ear. Like he’s on the floor too, mirroring him from the other side.

It nearly makes him laugh out loud. It’s enough to stop his shallow breaths, at least. 

“Not surprising that someone like Park Seonghwa, Covenless murderer, would have no idea who I am.” _You didn’t know Wooyoung’s name, either,_ he thinks but doesn’t say. “I suppose I can tell you. Not like you can do me harm with my name now that we’re…” 

He trails off. Seonghwa already knows what they are, anyway. 

“It’s San. Choi San.”

Seonghwa slams his fist into the door and San jumps back, nearly presses himself against the opposite wall. 

“What were you thinking? _Why_ did you use this spell? You realize we’re stuck like this forever, right?”

San moves back to the door before he realizes what he’s doing, slamming his own fist into the wood. 

“You weren’t supposed to _be there,_ ” San hisses. “None of this was supposed to happen.”

“You were supposed to be _alone_ ,” Seonghwa growls back. San sucks in a breath. “You had me cornered. What was I supposed to do?”

“He was just another notch on your belt. Another body to boast about.” It’s easier to talk about Wooyoung like this, when anger clouds the grief. “He’s — he was —” 

Anger evaporates, replaced by aching loneliness. He pounds his fist weakly on the door. “Wooyoung was everything to me. Why would I not take everything from you?”

He doesn’t answer. It’s quiet, after. San stays on the floor, resting his head against the door until he finds the strength to stand. He doesn’t know if Seonghwa is still there on the other side. He should get him something to eat. Magic can only sustain a witch for so long, and he can’t let Seonghwa die. He shuffles back to his bedroom instead, falls into bed and stares at the skyline visible from his balcony, eyes wide and unseeing.

Another few weeks pass by in much the same way. The difference now is that San heats up broth and tea for two, takes some to Seonghwa. He brings him fresh clothes. (His own. Not...he would _never_ give him —) He sets the food on the nightstand and Seonghwa doesn’t meet his eyes. San enchants his left hand to the headboard, the same pulsing magic as the collar he used the first night. 

“If we’re stuck like this you really must come to trust me,” Seonghwa says once, glancing briefly into San’s eyes before staring at the floor. 

San stares at the brand high on Seonghwa’s neck, visible only because he is a witch. The mark of the Covenless, earned because Seonghwa has done something unforgivable, and now he has nothing and no one. 

“What do you know about trust?” San spits. Anger is easier. He keeps coming back to it. “I would sooner end this for both of us than trust you.”

He slams the door behind him. Seonghwa’s eyes never leave the floor.

  
  


San wakes up with a start, Wooyoung’s face clear in his mind. He’s covered in sweat, heart pounding in his chest so hard he feels like it will crawl right out of his mouth. There are tear tracks on his cheeks, dried just enough that he can feel them there. There is no clock in his bedroom, but he can see the lights from the barrier, gentle and soft in the roaring chaos of his mind. 

He falls back against the bed and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He hasn’t slept through the night since before the job. He’s tired, bone deep exhaustion blanketing everything. He swims in rage and grief and loss so profound he doesn’t know where to put it. 

If San were less exhausted, he would have heard the tiny pattering footsteps sooner. He’s not aware of them until a small chirrup brings the cat onto his bed. It’s a wonder he hasn’t forgotten to enchant Seonghwa’s room before now. He doesn’t have the energy for any of this. He’s not angry, not even scared of what Seonghwa will do. There is just acceptance. Seonghwa is a cat again. Perhaps he’s figured out how to change at will. And now Seonghwa is on his bed. 

He takes his hands away from his eyes and turns his head to look at the cat. Seonghwa’s eyes glint in the light from the barrier. They stare at each other for a long time. San waits for the attack. Will Seonghwa change back right here, launch a spell from point blank range and end this for both of them? Will he pull a dagger from who knows where, just like he did with Wooyoung?

San turns his back to the cat, rolling over to face the balcony. He feels the mattress dip under small feet, and then Seonghwa’s body is pressed against his back. Maybe he’s tired, too.

San falls asleep, and for the first time in weeks he sleeps the rest of the night through.

🜍🜍🜍

It takes nearly three months before Hongjoong ever comes to check on him. He brings Mingi along (of course he does. And just what San needs, too, a human running around his apartment doing god knows what), and the visit is equal parts pleasant and terrible. Hongjoong keeps giving him this overly concerned look across his kitchen table, keeps saying he can take all the time he needs before he comes back to the office. They’re looking for the convenless bastard that did this, he assures him with a strong hand over his. They’re going to make him pay. 

San doesn't know how to tell him that he’s already taken care of it, so he keeps it to himself. Mingi wanders around his apartment, and San hopes Hongjoong has told him to keep his hands to himself. Magic, especially in the hands of humans, is dangerous. 

Hongjoong is a businessman before he is anything else. Humans, too, do business with him. They pay him for artifacts and, depending on the magic within (or the price), he sells to them. Song Mingi’s parents are wealthy beyond even Kang Yeosang. So wealthy, in fact, that when they slighted Hongjoong in a business deal, they didn’t even bat an eye when Hongjoong took their son as collateral. Mingi could hardly be called a prisoner, more like something between a prized gem and a lover. San tries to know as little about the whole affair as possible, but it was surprising to learn that humans cared less about the second son than the first. Strange, strange creatures. 

And so it’s only a matter of time, really, before Mingi walks into the kitchen with a black cat curled up in his arms. Seonghwa gives San a look that’s part mortified and part pleased. He really plays the part of a cat like he’s done it before. 

“Oh,” Hongjoong says. “I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“I got him after Wooyoung,” San explains softly. “It’s been...an adjustment. We’re still getting used to each other.”

Mingi strokes Seonghwa under the chin and his eyes close, his body relaxing against Mingi’s chest. 

“He really likes humans,” Hongjoong says. His eyes narrow and for a moment San worries that he’s figured it out. Can he sense the magic that lives inside Seonghwa even when he’s a cat?

“He’s a stray,” San says. “I found him wandering around near the barrier. Maybe he’s lived with them before.”

This seems to satisfy him, and Hongjoong goes back to his weird brand of comfort. Mingi moves to the other room and sits on the couch. San is only a little surprised when Seonghwa jumps up and lays in his lap without any coaxing. They don’t stay much longer. Mingi sets Seonghwa down carefully on the couch and the two of them leave. Hongjoong gives him one last look, searching, before the door closes behind him. 

San walks over and sits next to Seonghwa on the couch. 

“Are you having fun?” he asks. There’s something almost like playfulness to his tone. Seonghwa rolls over to face him and narrows his eyes before resting his head on his paws. 

San stopped locking Seonghwa in the bedroom after that night, when he woke up and Seonghwa was still there on his bed, still a cat. Seonghwa is always a cat when he sees him, though he must do things as a human when San is in his bedroom. He hears the cabinets open and the shower run. It’s like he’s being courteous, like he knows that showing his human face is something San is still not ready for.

Over the weeks they spend more time around each other. San comes out of the bedroom more, sits on the couch and doesn’t look up when Seonghwa’s lithe form curls up on the opposite cushion. It’s...nice to have company after so much silence. Seonghwa the cat didn’t do anything to Wooyoung, and it’s easier to think about it like that. 

Some nights he dreams of memories that are not his own. Running through the woods, eyes at a child’s height. He tastes fear and blood and his neck burns. Flashes of buildings and life with a human woman, her smile and her kind hands where he has only known suffering. He sees Wooyoung once, from the wrong perspective, and that’s when he accepts that if he can see flashes from Seonghwa, then Seonghwa can surely do the same.

It makes things easier to talk about, knowing that Seonghwa knows more than he probably lets on. He curls up next to San’s thigh and San spends an evening telling him about the first job that Wooyoung praised him over. When his hand falls to Seonghwa’s body he doesn’t stop himself from stroking the silky black fur. 

“It was one of the holy artifacts,” San says. Seonghwa’s head turns under his palm and his eyes are wide when they meet. He lets out a dry laugh. “It didn’t mean anything to me back then. I took the job, I brought back the artifact. Got a bonus, too. Even Wooyoung has only ever brought back one.”

San can still see the look on Wooyoung’s face. Half jealous and half impressed. It was the first time San wanted to back him into an office and kiss him. He leaves that part out.

“Have you ever seen one?” San asks, hand sliding down Seonghwa’s fur once more. “A holy artifact?”

Seonghwa chirrups in a way that San assumes means yes. 

“They say the power inside a holy artifact is the closest thing witches can get to being a god. You’ve used one, right? Of course you have.” Seonghwa’s body freezes under his hand. “What did you even have to trade for a power like that?”

Seonghwa’s ears pin back and he growls, jumping off the couch and walking back to the other bedroom without so much as a glance.

It’s been months and he still doesn’t know a thing about Park Seonghwa. It shouldn’t make him as angry as it does, but anger is always easy. Wooyoung is dead and San’s life is bound to his killer and sometimes he wants to dig enchanted claws into Seonghwa’s skin and remind him how much it hurts, how it never stops hurting inside of him.

Except, it’s more true to say that Seonghwa storming off shouldn’t make him as sad as it does.

  
  


A few weeks later, San comes back from buying groceries to find Seonghwa in the kitchen. He’s got something sizzling in a pan, and there’s a mug of tea in his left hand. He glances up when he hears the door and for a moment the two of them freeze. He’s wearing one of San’s old shirts, worn and faded. It stretches across his chest, is short enough to leave a slice of skin between the hem and his pants.

It’s the first time they’ve existed like this. San knows Seonghwa roams around the house. He’s seen the clean dishes in the dishwasher. He’s seen laundry hanging on the drying racks. It’s different to know and to see.

“I’m sorry, I,” Seonghwa starts, eyes slipping from San’s and down to the floor. “I’ll go, just —”

“It’s okay,” San rushes out, cutting him off. “It’s okay. You don’t, you can.” He takes a breath, “Stay. It’s fine.”

Seonghwa glances up to his eyes again. The silence stretches for so long San is sure whatever is on the stove has burned.

Eventually he nods, and San walks into the kitchen and puts the groceries away. He looks at Seonghwa, at the mark burned into his skin and all he can see is Wooyoung’s killer. Maybe it’s loneliness, or maybe it’s acceptance. He stays in the kitchen long after he’s done putting things away and watches Seonghwa cook. It’s domestic in a way that leaves him hollow. If he looks up too fast he can see Wooyoung’s grin, hear the sound of his laugh echoing off the walls. 

Seonghwa takes his food back to his bedroom, and San buries his face in his arms on the kitchen table and lets himself cry. 

  
  


By the end of the week Seonghwa is curled up on the other end of the sofa, reading through a book he plucked off San’s bookshelf. San is reading, too, though he spends much more time studying Seonghwa’s profile. His hair is inky black and shaved on the sides. His nose is straight, jaw sharp, lips full. The mark on his neck should be ugly, and in some ways it is. The skin looks permanently charred, like a wound that has never healed. San wants to touch it but he’s afraid to. Like the mark will rub off on him, somehow. (Like now that Wooyoung is gone, and Seonghwa is here, he doesn’t have a Coven anymore. He doesn’t have anything.)

Covenless. San has been thinking about it a lot over the past few weeks. To be branded Covenless means Seonghwa was expelled, disowned. Every bridge burned, the only thing left making him a witch is that he was born one. 

“Where do you live?” San asks suddenly. Seonghwa glances up from his book. “Is there a flat somewhere?”

Seonghwa makes a sound between a laugh and a sigh. “It’s not like I can live in the city.” He closes the book and rests it on his legs. “In the human world. When I need to lay low, I stay with an old friend. He doesn’t know what I am.”

San almost says, _what, a killer?_ He keeps it in. He wants to know more about Seonghwa, and being cruel won’t help either of them.

“Is he going to miss you?”

Seonghwa is quiet for a long time. He shifts to face San, legs tucked under him.

“A few nights a month is hardly enough time to miss someone. You’re thinking of some other kind of friendship. This is more like business.” 

San reaches out and grabs his hand. Thoughtless, but the contact eases the tightness in his chest.

“There has to be someone,” San says. 

Seonghwa’s eyes are wide, chest frozen like he’s stopped breathing. The sound of his own words echo between them. _Does a single person even care that you’re here?_ He kind of can’t bear the thought that there’s no one. San threads their fingers together. 

“It’s ok,” Seonghwa says. Maybe he knows. Maybe he’s reading each thought as San has it. There’s so much they don’t know about the spell that binds them to each other. “I’ve been alone for a long time.”

Apology feels shallow, here. San wonders if he could survive what Seonghwa has lived through. But maybe he is. Wooyoung is gone and San is still here, still living even though he feels like shattered glass most days. 

Seonghwa’s fingers tighten against his. He props his book back open on his knees and starts reading again. He doesn’t let go of San’s hand.

San wonders if it’s harder to have never had anyone than to lose them. He soaks in the warmth of Seonghwa’s touch and goes back to his own book. 

  
  


🜍🜍🜍

  
  


San starts accepting missions again at the six month mark. Seonghwa spends less time as a cat, so much so that San has to get him clothes that actually fit. It feels like a significant step. Wooyoung is gone and San misses him so much it stops him in his tracks sometimes, but Seonghwa is a permanent part of his life. It’s a step toward moving on, when he sets the clothes in front of Seonghwa’s bed and he looks up at San with this look that’s only a little wary.

Forgiveness is acceptance, someone said. It’s not exactly true. San can accept what Seonghwa has done, has been on the road to doing just that for some time. Seonghwa was, in his own view, outnumbered and overpowered. He was no match for San and Wooyoung working together. San would have acted first and asked questions later if the situation was reversed. Anyone would. But that doesn’t mean that San can forgive him.

Seonghwa helps him chop vegetables for dinner and his hands aren’t stained red with blood like they used to be. San can see Seonghwa the man, not so blindsided by Seonghwa, the witch who murdered the only person to ever mean anything to him.

  
  


After eight months, San gives Seonghwa his own key. He makes him promise, blood oath to soul bond, that he will not kill unless his life is in danger. Seonghwa’s eyes are wide every time San mentions killing. He’s seen it in flashes, though neither of them have said it out loud. 

Seonghwa has a reputation among witches that most of the Covenless have. Brutal, power hungry killers. The problem is that Seonghwa has never killed anyone, human or witch. 

Well, not until Wooyoung.

San learns that if given the choice, Seonghwa will curl up on his lap as a black cat before he will let their hands brush together as witches. Loneliness claws at him, and he knows that Seonghwa feels it too, but he can’t seem to ask for it any other way. San tries to understand. Some days it’s still a lot to grapple with. Truth is, maybe it’s easier to seek affection from the cat, too.

San cradles the cat in his arms, especially after missions. He comes home covered in dirt and smelling of magic and Seonghwa’s tiny feet thump across the wooden floor, eyes wide with relief when he comes back. 

He’s afraid of not coming back even though in some way he should hope for death. Where do witches go when they die? Hell, if humans are to be believed. Rebirth, maybe. There are several stories. San doesn’t dwell on them as much as he did in the beginning. He sees Seonghwa’s sleek black fur and he is just as relieved to be home. Seonghwa twines between his legs and follows him into his bedroom, curling up on the bed while he peels off his clothes and showers away the grime. 

When San comes out of the bathroom Seonghwa is human again, sitting cross legged on his bed. His eyes scan San’s bare chest quickly before settling on his ribs.

“You’re injured,” he says. Very matter of fact. 

San shrugs. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Seonghwa reaches out and takes San’s wrist, pulling him closer to sit next to him on the bed. His fingers are gentle when he touches the dark area. Not a bruise, but leftover magic seeped into his skin. 

Seonghwa’s eyes close. He mutters something under his breath. San watches quietly as the darkness is cut in half, watches Seonghwa’s eyebrows furrow as he hisses. When he opens his eyes, there’s something behind them San can’t place.

“It’s not nothing,” he says.

San reaches for the same spot on Seonghwa’s ribs. He lifts the hem of his shirt and sure enough, the same half faded mark is there on his skin. 

“ _Why?_ ” he breathes, meeting his eyes. 

“It’s easier to share the burden. It’s not like I can’t feel how much pain you’re in.” Seonghwa moves close enough that their thighs touch. San’s hand is still on his bare skin. “It’s better this way.”

 _I don’t want to see you in pain,_ San almost says. He almost means it, too. He lets his hand fall away from Seonghwa’s skin, crawling around to the other side of the bed and pulling the covers down. Seonghwa moves to stand.

“Stay,” San says. He settles under the blankets. “Please.”

Seonghwa stares at him for a long time. The silence stretches into something unpleasant between them, a thick film. San rolls over to face the balcony. There’s no way to explain how his presence is its own comfort, how San only sleeps through the night when Seonghwa is close. 

“Nevermind,” he says softly. “I shouldn’t have —”

He feels the mattress dip under Seonghwa’s weight. He doesn’t move closer, doesn’t press their bodies together in the dark. He’s there, though, and San smiles to himself. He doesn’t know if Seonghwa will ever say that he enjoys San’s company, if he will ever admit as a human that San’s touch is as much as comfort to him. But they have time. 

San wakes up with his face in the back of Seonghwa’s neck, arm slung over his chest. He can feel the steady beat of his heart, the steady rhythm of his breathing. He lets sleep take him again.

  
  


It’s like something changes, after that. A noticeable shift over the weeks. When Seonghwa comes back with groceries it’s always with San’s favorite food. He pries things out of San patiently, slowly, like a man researching his life’s work. Bit by bit he asks San about himself, and San can usually get the same information in return. 

“Do you have any family?” Seonghwa asks one night. They’re sitting on the balcony, the barrier shimmering almost close enough to touch.

“My parents are long gone,” San answers with a shrug. “I have a brother. He found a new Coven and I haven’t heard from him since.”

When he looks over Seonghwa is staring at him. Like he’s memorizing. He wonders if that’s all this is, gathering useful information, plotting some kind of escape. Does Seonghwa want to be free of him? It’s been months. Seonghwa even has his own key. He hasn’t been a prisoner in a long time. There’s nothing keeping him here other than his own desire to be here.

Seonghwa nods, staring up at the sky. It’s hard to see the stars with the light from the barrier, but when San glances up he can just make out Orion. 

“I have a sister,” Seonghwa says softly. He sighs. “Had, I guess.” San looks back to him. Seonghwa shakes his head. “She’s not dead, but I’ve been struck from every Coven registry. If you were to meet her she would say it’s only been her. No younger brother to speak of.”

“I had no idea it was so final,” San says. “I don’t know the circumstances, but I’m sorry all the same.”

Seonghwa sighs and settles against the glass door. The shift makes them touch from ankle to hip. 

“As a child, my magic was uncontrollable. There’s more to the story, but it hardly matters,” Seonghwa says. He looks back to the sky, the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “All those circumstances led me to be shackled to you. I’m coming to realize there are worse fates.”

San lets his head fall against Seonghwa’s shoulder. For once, Seonghwa doesn’t seem startled by the contact. If anything, he shifts into it, a flower to the sun. It’s like when he bumps his head into San’s arm as a cat, telling without saying a word. It doesn’t feel bad, anymore. Wooyoung is gone and Seonghwa is here and maybe San is ready to admit that it’s nice to have someone. That it’s nice to have Seonghwa. 

“I think so, too,” he says. 

🜍🜍🜍

  
  


A year to the day Wooyoung is lost to him, San is putting dishes in the dishwasher when the door to his apartment flies open. Seonghwa freezes on the counter, tail twitching. His eyes are wide, and he jumps down to stand almost defensively in front of San. San looks to the door only to see Wooyoung walk through it. 

The plate in his hand doesn’t fall to the floor so much as his entire body crumples and everything goes with him. Seonghwa skitters out of the way.

Wooyoung kneels in broken porcelain and his hands are on San’s shoulders and he is alive. _Alive_. San feels his lips move but he can’t hear what he’s saying. Wooyoung squeezes him gently before cupping his face in his hands. 

“It’s okay, shh,” he says, and god San almost chokes on the sound that rips from his throat at Wooyoung’s voice. “I’m here. I’m sorry it took so long.”

San can’t see anything that isn’t Wooyoung. God. _Wooyoung_. 

“You’re here,” San says. His throat feels raw. He can hardly breathe. “You died. You _died_ , Wooyoung, but you —” 

Wooyoung is thinner. There is a healed over slice on his arm. His hair is long and dark and hanging in his eyes, but he’s breathing. San puts his hand on Wooyoung’s chest just to feel his heart beating under his hands. It’s the same place Seonghwa’s dagger hit him. Wooyoung reaches up and covers his hand with his own. 

“I’m here,” he echoes. “You’d be surprised how hard it is to get out of the Underworld. I had to...well, it’s not important.”

San shakes his head, over and over. Everything is important when it comes to Wooyoung.

It’s then that Wooyoung turns to look at the black cat seated on the floor, a little closer to San than to him. He reaches out and the cat’s hackles rise in fear. He takes a few steps back, eyes wide.

“You got a cat,” Wooyoung says.

It feels like San’s entire world shatters around him.

  
  


🜍🜍🜍

It starts like this. Seonghwa is keeping a low profile in the bedroom he now calls his, listening to the low voices of San and Wooyoung. They sound angrier than he expects. He can feel the distant tug of San’s grief, his joy mixed heavily with sorrow, just as keenly as he has felt everything since waking up in this room as a cat. It’s been two days since Wooyoung came back. Seonghwa expected a tearful reunion, something romantic and tender, but it hasn’t been like that at all. They’ve barely touched since Wooyoung helped San shakily to his feet in the kitchen. 

The door opens. Seonghwa still isn’t used to someone else being here. Wooyoung shuts it with his back, eyes to the ceiling as he takes a shaking breath. There’s so much tension in his body he’s nearly shaking with it. Which isn’t what Seonghwa expects at all. Shouldn’t Wooyoung be happier to be home with the love of his life? No matter what he encountered in the Underworld, wouldn’t all that pale after seeing San’s face? He looks at the bed and when their eyes meet Wooyoung’s face becomes a mask of rage.

“ _You_ ,” he growls. 

There is no time to explain his presence. It’s very obvious that San hasn’t said anything in the little time he’s had to do so. Seonghwa closes his eyes and becomes a cat, just a flash, before changing back into a human.

“He bound me to him to save himself,” Seonghwa rushes out when Wooyoung starts chanting low under his breath. “Soul to soul. If I die he will, too.”

And that at least stops the chanting. Wooyoung’s hand is still hovering in the air between them. His chest heaves. Distantly, Seonghwa hears San’s bedroom door open and shut. Theirs. He’s got to get used to this.

“Have you enjoyed yourself?” Wooyoung says after a while, lowering his hand back to his sides. He grins but it’s more of a snarl. “Killing me and making your way into my life. Was it fun?”

There is no point trying to explain to Wooyoung that he didn’t want this to happen at all, that he never asked San to bind them together. He never asked to be brought here, wouldn’t let himself think that San would ever be kind to him. That San is someone important to him, now, in a way no one else has really ever been important.

Wooyoung steps closer and Seonghwa scrambles off the other side of the bed, putting it between them as a physical barrier. 

“I’m not finished with you,” Wooyoung says. “You took everything from me and you thought I’d let you get away with it? You’re wrong.”

It’s funny how quickly he falls back into the person he was before San. He takes a breath and the brand on his neck burns hot. He’s Covenless, after all. The things he’s done to survive would make most witches sick. 

“I think you’re a practical man, Wooyoung,” he says, relaxing his shoulders. He puts a hand on his hip and levels his gaze. “There is a common thread between us. I am Choi San’s Familiar. We cannot survive without the other. Rings a bell, doesn’t it?”

The color drains from Wooyoung’s face. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that this is how things are. You can’t kill me. You might not even be able to hurt me without the pain transferring to him. We haven’t really tested it.” He smirks. “You’re going to have to live with me. If you’ve really been to the Underworld. Well, you’ve certainly survived worse than this.”

Wooyoung is trembling with anger. Part of him feels upset to see it, like an echo of San’s own feelings inside of him. He shakes it off.

“Just because I can’t kill you doesn’t mean I have to welcome you into my life.” Wooyoung takes a breath, straightening his spine as he opens the door. “It doesn’t mean I have to forgive you. Either of you.”

The door slams shut and Seonghwa sits heavily on the bed. Worry is the beast clawing at his chest. San is not to blame but it seems Wooyoung is going to blame him anyway. Whatever Wooyoung did to get out of the Underworld is another concern. Witches cannot freely travel to a place like that. At best Wooyoung slaughtered countless demons and ghosts. At worst, he is missing something vital, something both he and San are going to miss. His humanity? His soul? 

He counts his breaths. He listens to the sound of a door slamming, distant voices rising.

Seonghwa wonders which part will hurt more: when San casts him out or when Wooyoung kills him.

  
  


🜍🜍🜍

  
  


Wooyoung slams the bedroom door and San knows, immediately, that he knows. He never meant to keep Seonghwa a secret. There hasn’t been time to explain. Wooyoung has only been back a few days, and really, San has just been trying to come to terms with it. He accepted that Wooyoung was dead. Seonghwa’s easy comfort feels sick and sour in his throat. He didn’t forgive him, not exactly, but they’re stuck together until death. What else was he supposed to do?

“Did you ever go look for me?” Wooyoung asks. There is something almost broken in the way he says it. “After you left the mansion. Did you ever try to find my body?”

San can’t meet his eyes. No one has asked him that. Not even Hongjoong. 

“I...no,” San says softly. Wooyoung’s fist pounds the door.

“Of course you didn’t. You’ve been too busy mourning me without knowing a fucking thing that’s happened to me. You’ve been, _god_ , you’ve been shacking up with my _murderer_.”

San’s entire body goes hot and then cold. He looks up at Wooyoung and feels dizzy and sick and wrong.

“That’s not it at all,” San says quickly. “Shacking up? Do you think I’m _sleeping_ with him? God, Wooyoung, do you really think so little of me?”

 _“You didn’t even look for me!”_ Wooyoung shouts. He runs a hand through his hair hastily, tugging on the strands. “That tells me everything I need to know. I never would have given up on you.”

San’s blood rushes through his ears, ringing in the silence. Wooyoung’s eyes are wide, chest rising and falling in a way that’s a little too controlled for how angry he is. San is used to anger. He’s felt it constantly the last year, so quick to jump to it it’s nearly muscle memory. But not at Wooyoung.

“I love you, Wooyoung,” San breathes. Wooyoung doesn’t react. “It ripped me apart. Watching you fall, I’ve never felt pain like that. Are you going to say I should have let him kill me instead of using forbidden magic?”

Wooyoung looks into his eyes. It’s almost like seeing a stranger, like all the years they’ve spent together never existed at all. It feels like watching him die all over again.

Seconds stretch to minutes and Wooyoung is quiet. San can’t look away from his face. It still doesn’t feel quite real to see him. Wooyoung is alive, body warm in the bed next to him at night, but he’s so far out of reach. 

San realizes it at the same time Wooyoung opens his mouth to speak. 

“You don’t know the things I did to get back here,” Wooyoung says, something dark and heavy in his voice. “I fought. I bled. I traded something I’ll never get back.”

He pulls down the collar of his shirt. There’s a black mark, a brand, under his collarbone. San steps closer and takes a shaky breath. 

“Forbidden magic,” San whispers. His eyes shoot up to Wooyoung’s face. “What did you do?”

“It’s like they know,” Wooyoung says bitterly. “The little gods in those holy artifacts take without remorse. I wanted to come back to you, so they took my family. I’ve been erased, Choi San.”

He says his surname on purpose to drive the point home. No. No no no. It’s not the mark of the Covenless, but San understands that it’s pretty close. Wooyoung’s younger brother will not remember him, will not know he existed at all. There will be no record of his birth. His entire career with Hongjoong might very well be gone, too.

San reaches out and Wooyoung lets him, shaking hands tracing the mark. 

“I’m sorry,” San says. Once he starts he finds he can’t stop saying it. “I’m sorry, Wooyoung. I’m sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was just supposed to be an easy job. I’m —”

Wooyoung’s arms wrap around his shoulders. It’s not forgiveness, exactly, but it’s comfort. San leans heavily against him and tries not to cry. 

“I haven’t forgiven you. It’s going to take time.” His hand moves gently back and forth across his shoulder blades. “First we need to figure out what to do with that witch.”

San moves back and lets Wooyoung’s hands fall away from him. That sour, hot feeling coats the back of his throat.

“He’s never killed anyone,” San rushes out. “Just you, but you aren’t dead. This can’t be undone, Wooyoung. We’re stuck with each other.”

“You don’t have to be so nice to him,” Wooyoung says. More bitterness. Like he can only get it all out of his system by hurling it at San. “You could lock him in a closet and he would survive.”

“You were _dead_ ,” San says, and this time the anger rushes under his skin. “You were dead and I had nothing except the Covenless witch that killed you. I hated him at first. I tried to lock him away, but I couldn't. I can’t.”

Wooyoung’s jaw is practically on the floor. San pushes on.

“I love you. I will always love you, but Seonghwa is my Familiar, now. My partner.”

San’s hands shake at his sides when he finishes. The silence stretches on again. San wonders how he would feel if it were reversed, if he sacrificed everything only to find Wooyoung soul bound to his killer. He’d be a little more understanding. Probably.

Wooyoung sighs and turns to face the balcony. 

“I don’t want you sleeping in here until I figure this out.”

“Fine.” San takes a breath. “But I’m not giving up on you. On us.”

Wooyoung turns to look at him over his shoulder. There’s something almost normal in the sarcastic tilt of his mouth. 

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

By the time the moon is high in the sky, San is settled on the couch, arm hanging off the side like he’s seeking the gentle brush of warm fur, comfort in the dark. It’s better that it never comes.

  
  


🜍🜍🜍

  
  


Things don’t get worse, exactly. It’s more that they don’t get better. Seonghwa spends as much time avoiding the destruction that is Wooyoung and San as he can. At some point San stopped being sad and started being angry. It flows warm through Seonghwa’s veins, familiar. He can’t say he blames San for it. Wooyoung is being unreasonable. It’s been weeks. If he were smart, he would accept that Seonghwa is a part of their lives and press a kiss to San’s pretty mouth and tell him he knows San never stopped loving him. 

Seonghwa doesn’t know what Wooyoung wants from San exactly. To have someone to come back to is already more than Seonghwa has ever had. Wooyoung didn’t even _die_. He can’t hold Seonghwa defending himself against him forever, but it seems like he’s going to take his sweet time accepting things.

It’s harder to sneak around now that San has been exiled to the living room. Seonghwa nudges the door open and sneaks into the kitchen as quietly as he can, grabs a few pieces of fruit and heats up some water for tea. He doesn’t dare use the kettle, just puts water in a pot and waits for it to simmer.

It’s a successful trip. He sets his mug of tea on the end table in his bedroom and gets all the way through peeling an orange before he notices San on his bed. 

“What are you doing in here?” Seonghwa asks, his voice a harsh whisper. 

If Wooyoung thinks they’re sneaking around it’s not going to make the situation any better. Surely San knows that, too.

“He hates you,” San says, falling back against the bed. He presses his palms into his eyes and sighs. “He hates me.”

“I know you care for him, but he’s a fool.”

San huffs a laugh but doesn’t move his hands. Seonghwa sits down on the bed, careful to avoid San’s body. 

“It’s the strangest feeling. I was so lost when he died. I didn’t think I would ever truly get over it,” San says. He turns his head to face Seonghwa and slides his hands down to peek between his fingers. “I wasn’t perfect, but I was okay. I would have been okay.”

Seonghwa holds out an orange segment and San takes it, and for a moment the room is quiet except for their eating. He wonders if San would be able to talk it out if he were a cat. It always works better that way when things are hard.

“But now he’s back. He used a holy artifact. He lost his family to come back to me and he finds us bound for all time. He thinks we’re sleeping together.”

 _Ah_. A part of Seonghwa is a little pleased. He wouldn’t dislike Wooyoung so much if he hadn’t started threatening him from the moment they saw each other. He won’t put any more effort into the thing than Wooyoung, so for now he lets himself be smug. Let him think it. Let it consume him.

San reaches out like he’s helpless to stop it. Like a magnet, and Seonghwa responds to the pull in kind. He lays his hand over San’s and watches him melt at the contact. He curls up on his side and looks up at Seonghwa and it feels like his heart is breaking in two. Far removed but also right inside of him.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” San whispers, eyes shining in the low light. 

“He wants to lock me away, right?” Seonghwa asks. San’s eyes widen. “You should let him. He loves you. He hates me. There aren’t many other ways to fix things. This...it’s a good option. It only hurts me.” San shakes his head. Seonghwa traces his thumb over San’s hand. “Remember when you said I was a filthy awful wretch? I may not have killed Wooyoung, but that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve this kind of existence.”

“If it were that simple, I would have done it myself.” San sits up and his body shifts, his hand pressing against the side of Seonghwa’s thigh. There’s an energy here, a current of something Seonghwa never allowed himself to think about. “As strange as it might seem, I care about what happens to you.”

San’s fingers link with his and it’s like all the air in the room is gone. 

“You might be Covenless, but you’re mine now.”

San leaves the room and Seonghwa spends so much time staring at the door that his tea is cold by the time he thinks to drink it.

  
  


It takes another few days for things to come to a head with Wooyoung. Seonghwa spends as much time as a cat as he can. It’s easier to avoid both men that way, easier still to roam the house a little more freely. It’s a bad habit that leads him to curl up in San’s lap, lulled to sleep by gentle hands stroking down his fur. When he’s shaken awake by San, Seonghwa peeks around the couch to see Wooyoung’s hard stare. He jumps down and walks calmly back to the bedroom, refusing to give Wooyoung the satisfaction of any amount of fear. Wooyoung can hate him all he wants, but there’s very little he can do about it. 

This is what Seonghwa continues to think until he wakes up that night with a figure in his doorway. 

“What are you —” Seonghwa starts. For a moment he thinks it’s San, almost opens his mouth to tell him that he shouldn’t be here. A bolt of light shoots out and Seonghwa’s wrist is shackled to the headboard. 

Shit.

He tries to change into a cat, but nothing happens. Shit shit shit. Wooyoung shuts the door behind him. It’s pitch black in the room, save for the glowing light from the cuff on his wrist. He doesn’t come any closer, but it hardly puts Seonghwa at ease. 

“Why are you here?” he asks. 

Wooyoung steps close enough that the light finally reaches his face. His eyes are cold, mouth a hard line. 

“You should be acting more like a prisoner, at the very least not running around like you _belong_ here,” he says, sneering. “It can’t be that hard to figure out how to break this spell.”

“I’m not a prisoner,” Seonghwa says around a sigh. San is patient with Wooyoung even when he’s angry, but Seonghwa doesn’t think he really deserves it. “There’s no way to undo the spell. That’s why they call it forbidden magic.”

Wooyoung’s eyes flash. “I suppose you’re right. You aren’t a prisoner. It’s more that you’re owned. But guess what?” Wooyoung takes a few steps closer, nearly at the edge of the bed. “If San owns you then I own you too. I made you a killer, after all.”

“Fuck you,” Seonghwa spits. 

He’s seen Wooyoung in his dreams. The way he smiles when he’s looking at San. The way he looks on his back, legs spread and lips kiss swollen. Sometimes it’s hard to tell where San’s feelings stop and where his begin. Wooyoung is undeniably beautiful, but he would also rip Seonghwa’s head from his neck without a second thought. 

“Does that upset you?” Wooyoung asks, mock concern in his tone. He sits on the bed and Seonghwa has to fight not to kick him off. “If not owned then what are you besides Covenless?”

“I’m his, but that means he’s mine, too,” Seonghwa says. “Ownership goes both ways in magic.”

“You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve _him_. That mark on your neck tells me everything I need to know about you.”

“You think I don’t know about the artifact?” Seonghwa snaps back. Wooyoung glares but his hand hovers near his collarbone like he can’t help but try to hide it. “You may not be Covenless, but what do you have that I don’t?” Wooyoung leans closer and Seonghwa doesn’t back away. “When you think about it like that, aren’t we both just his?”

“Then what do you propose I do?” Wooyoung asks. He’s so close now it would take nothing for him to lean in and press their lips together. It’s such an easy way to channel things. Magic, pain, anger. It shouldn’t excite him this much. “How do I look at you and not see the man that wanted me dead?”

“You can’t hurt me,” Seonghwa says. Wooyoung probably needs the reminder. “There’s no telling how much of it San will feel.” He lets his eyes trail to Wooyoung’s mouth, full even in the dim light. “Unless there’s something you want him to feel.”

Wooyoung reaches out and grips his hair, tilting his head to the side. Anger is visible on his face. It was a risk and it didn’t pay off and now Seonghwa is probably going to bleed for it.

It’s a welcome thing when Wooyoung kisses him. It’s not kind, but Seonghwa never expected it to be. Bruising, teeth sinking deep into his bottom lip. It’s so easy to lose himself in it, to let Wooyoung draw blood, to run his tongue across the seam of their lips to taste it.

When they break apart Wooyoung shudders. His eyes are still cold, even as his breathing speeds up.

“Don’t stop,” Seonghwa says. 

Wooyoung only stops twice. Once to remove the magic binding his wrist. Once when he’s buried inside Seonghwa, arm wrapped around his chest to hold him up. 

“He’s mine,” Wooyoung growls in his ear, slamming inside of him for emphasis. Seonghwa bites back a moan. “If he’s mine, then _you_.” Another harsh thrust that leaves them both gasping. “You’re mine, too.”

When Seonghwa comes it’s with Wooyoung’s teeth set against his shoulder. He swears he can feel San jolt awake in the other room.

He wonders, long after Wooyoung is gone, if this will make things better or worse.

🜍🜍🜍

The whole thing is complicated. Wooyoung was dead but now he’s not. In the year he was gone San’s feelings for Seonghwa have grown from hatred to fondness. Definitely friendship. Could it one day become love? Probably. But now Wooyoung is back and San has so many feelings he’s choking on them. Love and anger and a deep, horrible guilt like water in his lungs. It’s not just that San never looked for Wooyoung. It’s that he was already moving on, that he let himself care about someone else. 

It’s a mirror of a year ago, like fate. San falls thoughtlessly into bed after months of exhaustion, and Wooyoung pulls him closer instead of telling him to get out. It’s just like what happened with Seonghwa. Wooyoung situates them so that San’s head is over his heart. He lets out a shaky breath.

“I love you,” Wooyoung says. It’s the first time he’s said it since he got back. San does his best to burrow into Wooyoung’s chest. He wants to be closer. He wants to wrap himself in Wooyoung’s love like a blanket, hold it tight so it doesn't disappear. 

“I love you too,” San says.

“I think that if our situation was reversed, I would have done the same thing you did,” Wooyoung admits softly. He snorts. “Well, if I knew what spell you used, I mean. It kept you alive. I’m grateful for that. I don’t know what I would have done if I came back and you were gone. I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm sorry.”

San soaks it in for a moment before he takes a steadying breath. “So what now?”

He turns his head to look at Wooyoung. The light from the barrier dances across his face, soft blues in the dark. He’s beautiful.

“I don’t think things will ever go back to the way they were. Especially not with Seonghwa here, too.”

Wooyoung has never said his name before. When Wooyoung came out of Seonghwa’s room a few weeks ago his smile was triumphant, kind of like the way San looked at him the first time his name climbed up the board at the office. Like Wooyoung had won.

It would be a lie to say the whole thing didn’t cement his feelings for Seonghwa into place. Arousal mixed with shock like some sweet, forbidden fruit. The ghost of Wooyoung’s fingers on his skin in every place he touched Seonghwa. He should be hurt that Wooyoung fucked Seonghwa and has yet to even kiss him. It should feel like betrayal. It doesn't.

“You want him,” Wooyoung says. There’s no malice behind it, but San feels the cold shock of the words all the same. “You haven’t even kissed him, have you?”

“I,” San starts. He looks away from Wooyoung’s face. “No. A little more time, and maybe we would have. But then you came back.” He locks eyes with him again. “I love you, but I, do, want him. Especially now that you’ve had him.”

“I know.” He pulls San up and kisses him. San melts. It’s like years worth of tension leaves him all at once. He’s been so on edge, so afraid of doing something wrong, of pushing Wooyoung away. It feels like things will really be okay. Finally. 

It’s a short, simple kiss. Wooyoung pulls back but they’re still kissing close. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to care for him the way you do, but I love you. We’re stuck with him. I’m not saying it will happen right away, but I’m going to do my best to like him.” He smirks and San’s heart flips. “Well, at least hate him less. I wouldn't be opposed to sleeping with him, but we can take everything as it comes.”

San doesn’t know what to say. It feels like a dream. He never let himself imagine what it would be like to have Wooyoung back, never dared to imagine the possibility of Wooyoung and Seonghwa getting along well enough to live together. 

Thank you feels dismissive, somehow. Instead, he presses a kiss to Wooyoung’s mouth, wishing he could crack their chests open, let everything inside of him flow into Wooyoung, soul to soul.

Wooyoung pulls San on top of him, deepening the kiss. San’s entire body is on fire, tingling every place they touch.

“Please,” Wooyoung pants when they break apart. “Please, I just, _I need you._ ”

San takes Wooyoung apart the only way he knows how. Reverently. Slow slides of tongue, gentle press of fingers. He slides inside of him and maybe he was wrong. Maybe this is the soul to soul connection they were missing.

San rocks into Wooyoung, his body shaking with pleasure. Wooyoung melts beneath him, loud moans slipping from between their mouths. Wooyoung sinks blunt nails into his back and San sees stars. Wooyoung has always been able to read him better than anyone else. He knows what they both need.

When they come it is together, Wooyoung arching up against him, San shuddering as he spills inside of him. _I love you, I’m sorry, I love you._ He doesn’t realize he’s saying anything until Wooyoung presses a finger to his lips. 

“I know, love,” Wooyoung says, breathless. “I know.”

  
  


The next morning San pads into the kitchen to find Wooyoung in front of the coffee maker. He wraps his arms around his waist and rests his head on his shoulder, spends a lot of time breathing him in. More than he did before, but now San knows what it’s like to live without the feeling of Wooyoung’s body next to his, the sound of his voice. He’s not going to take it for granted now that he’s back.

“You’re in a good mood,” Wooyoung says around a yawn. 

San huffs against the side of his neck. “It’s early. That’s all.”

Wooyoung’s fingers find their way into his hair. The kitchen fills with the scent of coffee and San nearly falls asleep standing up.

There’s a sound from the side of the room. They turn their heads at the same time to see Seonghwa frozen in the doorway.

“Sorry. I, I’ll just...” Seonghwa says, heat rising to his face. 

It’s not just that San and Wooyoung are clinging to each other. San realizes it at the same time Wooyoung snorts. If San felt the echoes of Wooyoung fucking Seonghwa, then Seonghwa probably knows they...

“You can stay,” Wooyoung says. He makes an effort to not sound condescending. San wants to kiss him for it. “You, well, this —”

San tightens his arms around Wooyoung’s waist. He meets Seonghwa’s eyes. “You live here, too. Stay. Please.”

Seonghwa looks between the two of them like a scared cat, like he expects the rug to be pulled out from under him at any moment. San can’t really blame him. He’s quiet long enough for Wooyoung to pour himself some coffee and put the kettle on for San. 

“If that’s what you want,” Seonghwa says finally. He doesn’t walk into the kitchen until Wooyoung untangles himself from San and sits at the table.

San waits for the kettle to boil and steeps some tea for the two of them. Seonghwa hovers between San and the kitchen table, like he needs the closeness, the barrier. 

San sits across from Wooyoung but Seonghwa stays propped up against the counter. It’s a start. It’s enough. 

The rest of the morning is spent with San complaining about the work day ahead and Wooyoung smiling smugly between sips of coffee. Seonghwa is quiet, but as the minutes wear on the tension eases from his shoulders. 

“You’ll be okay here by yourselves?” San asks, looking between them. Wooyoung gives him a long suffering sigh and a nod, but Seonghwa is quiet, staring at Wooyoung like a rabbit in the grass. It takes him so long to answer San turns to speak to him.

“You can come with me if you want. Sometimes Hongjoong brings that human with him.” Seonghwa’s eyes widen. “Most days, actually. You seemed to like Mingi well enough when they dropped by.”

Wooyoung smirks. 

“You didn’t tell me you and Hongjoong had a playdate with your pets.”

Seonghwa chokes on his tea. San huffs. 

“It was hardly a playdate. Seonghwa stayed a cat, though that did keep the human occupied.”

“I’d rather just stay here,” Seonghwa says from behind his mug. 

“Fair enough,” San says, keeping his eyes locked with Wooyoung. “Just don’t kill each other while I’m gone.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” Wooyoung says, voice low. “I know how to handle him.”

Seonghwa meets San’s eyes, heat rising to his face. San can feel the arousal in Seonghwa’s veins, feels his own face growing hot. He stands in a rush and heads to the bedroom. From the door he hears Wooyoung cackle. 

🜍🜍🜍

Here’s how it plays out in San’s mind. Wooyoung forgives Seonghwa. They kiss and make up and everything because he can imagine whatever he wants. He hasn’t made it much further. Probably because the kissing is very distracting. 

What actually happens is this: Wooyoung walks toward their bedroom one night, turning back to San with dark, hungry eyes. 

“Bring Seonghwa with you,” he says before he slips inside. 

It feels like San’s world shatters and reassembles in a very different way than the first time he saw Wooyoung again. 

By the time he makes it to the doorway of Seonghwa’s room, he feels almost normal enough to casually lean against the fame. Seonghwa knows better, or maybe San’s face betrays him.

“You can say no,” San starts. Seonghwa raises an eyebrow. “Wooyoung wants you, us, both of us to —”

Seonghwa’s face shifts through a series of expressions so fast San can’t place them. He can feel enough, though, to know that Seonghwa is more relieved than he is anything else.

“Do you want me to say no?” Seonghwa asks carefully.

They both know the answer.

In their bedroom, Wooyoung enchants lights that flicker like candles all over the room. It’s dark, the barrier glowing faintly, the moon high in the sky. He’s sprawled shirtless on the bed, back propped against the headboard. The mark under his collarbone is stark. San can’t look away.

“Come here,” he says to San. His eyes flick to Seonghwa. “Stay.”

“Don’t be cruel,” San says when he’s close enough to whisper it. Wooyoung lets out a put upon sigh and tugs San onto the bed, situating him to straddle his hips. 

He kisses San like he’s putting on a show, open mouthed and filthy, his tongue slipping inside right away. San can’t help the moan that slips out, the way his hands find purchase on Wooyoung’s shoulders. It seems like it lasts a long time. He gets lost in it, the taste, the feeling of Wooyoung’s hands under his shirt, the quick break for air so he can pull it over his head and toss it to the floor. 

San leans back in to kiss him, but Wooyoung moves his head to the side. Oh. Right. San looks behind him to find Seonghwa’s eyes are wide and dark, his chest rising in shallow, quick breaths. 

“Do you know why you’re here?” Wooyoung asks him. His hand wraps around San’s waist and he rocks their hips together. San bites back a groan. 

Seonghwa shudders and shakes his head. “Some punishment, I’m sure.” His hands are clenched at his sides. “Do you plan on making me stand here and watch? Drive the point home that I’m not welcome here?”

Wooyoung laughs. San turns to him and almost smacks him.

“Take off your clothes and get on the bed if you want to do this,” Wooyoung says. “Otherwise, get out.”

It’s one thing for Wooyoung to imply, but hearing him blatantly tell Seonghwa to join them feels like getting hit by lightning, bolts of arousal shaking San’s entire frame. 

Seonghwa is still for only a moment before his hands relax and he reaches up to tug his shirt over his head. San has seen glimpses of his body over the course of the year, but it’s another thing entirely to see him like this. The lights flicker across his body, accentuate the swell of his chest, the way his waist tapers. Wooyoung’s hand tightens on his hip.

Seonghwa is quick to rid himself of the rest of his clothes, shameless even with two sets of eyes on him. He sits at the end of the bed, legs tucked under him, and San has to fight to keep from staring at the half hard swell of him.

“Do you want to kiss him?” Wooyoung asks, palm hot on the back of San’s neck when he turns his head to face him. San shudders. “You can.”

San turns around and holds a hand out for Seonghwa. He takes it, coming easily to settle on his knees in front of him.

“Can I?” San asks like he can’t feel the answer pounding in time with his heart.

“Please,” Seonghwa whispers.

San inches closer. Wooyoung is closer, too, mirroring them both. His hand rests between San’s shoulder blades. On their knees on the bed, he and Seonghwa are the same height. San threads their fingers together. He’s hyper aware of the rise and fall of Seonghwa’s chest, the wideness of his pupils. Wooyoung’s hand slides down his spine, settling on his lower back. 

They meet in the middle. Seonghwa’s mouth is warm against his. It feels like they’ve done this before, or maybe it’s the echo of the magic flowing through them, constant and familiar. San is the one to deepen the kiss, licking into Seonghwa’s mouth because he’s wanted this for so long he can’t remember when it started. Seonghwa’s hand tightens against his. Wooyoung makes a soft sound behind him, and any doubts San might have had fade away. He untangles their hands and pulls Seonghwa tight against him, threading his hands through his hair. His skin is hot where they touch. Seonghwa’s hands find his waist, wrap around, trace as much bare skin as he can reach. 

Seonghwa pulls back for air and San chases him, desperate to keep going. Now that he’s tasted him, now that he’s allowed to want, it’s hard to stop. Seonghwa breathes, his mouth nearly a smirk as San kisses him again. Wooyoung rubs small circles on his lower back. Seonghwa’s tongue traces his and he feels their hands meet on his skin. Arousal crackles through him, so intense he shudders.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Seonghwa breathes when they break apart. San’s forehead falls to his shoulder. 

When Wooyoung presses against his back it’s skin on skin. Seonghwa’s hands trace his sides.

“Here’s what I want,” Wooyoung says. “I want to see your pretty mouth on his cock.” He wraps an arm around San’s waist, hand brushing along Seonghwa’s skin as he makes his way to San’s pants, popping the button on his jeans easily. “I want to watch you fuck him. Show me how much you’ve wanted it.”

It’s that same gut punch of desire long forbidden. San lifts his head and turns so he can see Wooyoung out of the corner of his eye. For a moment he wants to ask, is this really okay? But Wooyoung’s eyes are dark, half-lidded, his lips parted, breath hot against his skin. 

“Yes, god, yes,” San says, turning his attention back to Seonghwa. 

Wooyoung pulls back. It’s just the two of them, now. Seonghwa reaches out to trace his jaw.

“I want to see, too,” he says. Like he could deny either of them.

Seonghwa lays back on the bed. Like this, San is facing Wooyoung, will be able to look up through his lashes and see them both. He rids himself of his jeans and underwear and settles in the space Seonghwa makes for him. His cock twitches under San’s attention. He meets Wooyoung’s eyes and wraps a hand around him. 

It’s hard to divide his attention. Want and need, desire laid out for both of them to see. Seonghwa groans and bucks into his hand. Wooyoung smirks, eyes trailing down to Seonghwa’s body. San follows, starting a slow rhythm. He can feel Seonghwa’s pleasure like an echo, a slight tug low in his navel. If San is anything in bed, he is patient in a way that Wooyoung describes as godlike. San works Seonghwa’s cock in his hand until he’s panting, flush spreading down his neck and hips chasing his hand. 

It’s only then that he leans forward and presses an open mouthed kiss to the tip of him. Seonghwa’s hips jerk as he bites back a low sound. San meets his eyes and sinks his mouth down to meet his hand.

San can hear the distant sound of Wooyoung’s clothes hitting the floor, the hitched breath he lets out when he touches himself. He bobs his head, takes Seonghwa further. He wants Seonghwa’s hand on the back of his head so much he nearly takes his mouth off him to say it. He moans around Seonghwa’s cock and swirls his tongue around the head and finally, _finally_ Seonghwa’s hand tangles in his hair. 

Seonghwa moans, the first sound he’s allowed himself all night, and San’s cock pulses between his legs. He wonders if Seonghwa can feel how turned on he is, how much he wants to taste his come. He sinks down until his nose meets skin. Seonghwa’s hand goes tight in his hair, his cock twitching against his tongue. San meets his eyes, presses his tongue more firmly against the underside of him. He can hear Wooyoung’s hand, a steady rhythm. He wants to see him better, wants to watch Wooyoung watch them and come undone. 

He takes his mouth off Seonghwa. His hand slides free from his hair, twisting into the sheet instead. 

“He’s good, right?” Wooyoung asks. San warms at the praise, glancing up to meet Wooyoung’s eyes before looking to Seonghwa again. Seonghwa nods and falls back against the sheets, spreading his legs a little wider.

San stares down at him. Seonghwa is long and lean and beautiful, even with the mark high on his neck. Maybe even because of it.

“You’re beautiful,” San says, because Seonghwa should be told. 

His tongue traces his bottom lip, eyes dark. “Fuck me. Please.”

“He asks much more nicely than you,” Wooyoung says. 

San rolls his eyes. “Some of us know how to be nice.” He turns his attention back to Seonghwa. “Are you ready?”

“More than,” he answers.

San sticks his fingers in his mouth and closes his eyes, chanting low when he slips them out. His fingers turn slick and shiny with lube like he poured half a bottle over them. Magic really is an amazing thing. His fingers circle Seonghwa’s entrance. He takes Seonghwa’s cock in his hand and slides a finger in, stroking over him at the same time.

Seonghwa’s eyes flutter, thighs tensing as he tries to keep still. San thrusts inside of him, testing at first, before he works up to something more steady. He keeps glancing up at Wooyoung now that he can see him, hand working over his cock at the same speed. 

The distant pull of Seonghwa’s pleasure settles more noticeably in his gut. He thrusts faster.

“When was the first time you wanted me?” Seonghwa asks him around a groan, canting his hips into San’s hand like he can’t help it. 

He adds a second finger and thrusts deeper, lip trapped between his teeth. That thrill again, gut punch swoop under his navel. Wrong. Right. Want. Need. He glances at Wooyoung before he answers. 

“When you said we should share the burden,” San says. “I wanted to kiss you so bad I couldn’t stand it.”

Seonghwa shudders as San’s fingers brush his prostate. He curls them, aims there on each thrust. 

“And you?” San asks. 

Seonghwa rolls his hips and tilts his head back to look at Wooyoung. Is he asking permission or taunting him?

“When you told me to stay, _ah_ , the first time,” Seonghwa pants. “When you asked if anyone was worried about me.”

It hits San in the chest. He can feel Seonghwa’s fondness wash over him and it’s so overwhelming he rests his forehead on Seonghwa’s knee. 

God. They’re so fucked. This is so — 

“Don’t stop,” Seonghwa says. “Please. I want this. I need —”

San chants under his breath, slicking his fingers up again and adding a third. Seonghwa shudders, rolling his hips down against San like he’s edging on desperate. San presses his lips to the inside of Seonghwa’s knee and thrusts faster. The head of Seonghwa’s cock is shining with precum. San trails kisses down his thigh, curls his fingers inside of him and swallows him down again. 

Seonghwa gasps, arching up until he hits the back of San’s throat. His hand tangles in San’s hair and tugs.

“If you keep going I’ll —”

San crooks his fingers just to feel Seonghwa writhe under him one more time before he pulls back. He wipes his fingers on the sheets and licks a stripe up his left hand. Another quick spell and he wraps his slick hand around himself, hissing at the contact.

“Are you going to stay over there the whole time?” San asks. Wooyoung strokes himself at a leisurely pace, shrugging. 

“Do you want me to come closer?” he asks. “What about the cat?”

Seonghwa tilts his head back with a frown.

“I have a name. You should use it.” 

San lines himself up and Seonghwa shivers, chewing on his bottom lip. 

“I could say the same for you,” Wooyoung fires back, taking his hand off himself. “Fine. Seonghwa. Do you want me?”

Seonghwa’s fingers find San’s on top of the sheets, fitting in the spaces between. 

“I do,” he says, mouth ticking up in a smirk. “I’m not too proud to admit it.”

Wooyoung looks somewhere between exasperated and turned on. He moves down the bed, close enough that Seonghwa’s head is nearly between his knees but not so close that they have to touch. 

San covers Seonghwa’s hand with his own, and when he meets San’s eyes he pushes in, one smooth thrust until he’s buried as deep as he can go. He hovers over Seonghwa, moving their joined hands next to his head. 

“You look so good like this,” Wooyoung says. He’s close enough now that San could fold Seonghwa just a little more and kiss him. He shudders at the thought. He leans down and kisses Seonghwa instead, hot and wet and open. Seonghwa moans into his mouth as San eases out and pushes back in. 

When they break apart San has every intention of fucking Seonghwa slow and deep until he’s shaking. What happens instead is San looks up and sees Wooyoung slide two fingers inside himself. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” San says lowly, hips stuttering as he fucks into Seonghwa. 

Wooyoung lets out a breathy laugh, fingers making an obscene sound inside of him. Seonghwa squeezes his hand and arches his hips to meet San’s thrusts. 

“God, is he,” Seonghwa starts to ask, breath hitching. 

“You should look,” San murmurs next to his ear. “Wooyoung is so pretty like this.”

Seonghwa nods, dazed, and tilts his head back to watch Wooyoung fuck himself on his fingers. San fucks Seonghwa while he watches, little sounds slipping from his mouth when Wooyoung’s fingers twist and his eyes flutter, bottom lip between his teeth. It’s all efficient, but Wooyoung still knows how to put on a show. 

San gets up on his knees, wrapping Seonghwa’s leg around his hips and fucking him faster. Seonghwa finally turns his attention back to him, saying his name punched out. San. San. Please.

Wooyoung slides his fingers out and moves just a little closer. 

“You weren’t this noisy with me,” he says with a frown. 

Seonghwa gasps as San slams inside of him. “It hardly, _god_ , seemed appropriate.”

Wooyoung leans down, glancing up at San with an intensity that has his rhythm faltering. 

“Next time I’ll make sure you scream for me.”

He presses their lips together and San loses all the air in his lungs, like there’s none left in the room at all. 

“ _Oh my god_ ,” he whispers, slamming into Seonghwa faster. 

Wooyoung hums against Seonghwa’s mouth, the slide of his tongue just visible. Seonghwa arches his back to adjust the angle, moaning into Wooyoung’s mouth. San expects more teeth, a harder edge. Wooyoung is surprisingly gentle, and it’s that more than anything that gets him close. 

Wooyoung breaks the kiss, staring up at San with a wicked grin. He reaches over Seonghwa’s body to wrap a hand around his leaking cock, stroking him in time with San’s thrusts. 

“Do you want to fuck me?” he asks, eyes locked with Seonghwa.

He groans, arching into Wooyoung’s hand. “Yes, _god, I_ —”

San feels Seonghwa’s orgasm like an afterimage, a gentle wave that has him grinding into him to stave off his own.

Wooyoung’s other hand moves to Seonghwa’s hair, tugging his head so far back it looks painful. It should be, but Seonghwa goes so tight around him San lets out a nearly desperate whine. 

“Earn it, then. I want to see you come.”

San feels dizzy, grinding as deep as he can into Seonghwa while Wooyoung’s hand strokes over him at a brutal pace. Seonghwa’s chest heaves, a string of curses and both of their names falling from his lips. San slams into him once, twice, and Seonghwa comes with a choked off moan, spilling over Wooyoung’s hand.

San works him through it, slowing his hips even though he’s so turned on it would take him no time at all to finish. He takes Wooyoung’s hand off Seonghwa’s cock and slides two fingers in his mouth, shivering at the taste of Seonghwa on his tongue. 

Seonghwa’s cock twitches a little at the sight. Wooyoung’s eyes are pitch black. He lets his fingers fall away and pulls him closer to lick the taste from his mouth. Wooyoung’s hands wander to his waist while their tongues curl together.

When they break apart Wooyoung’s hands are on his chest, firm pressure. 

“On your back,” he pants. 

San eases out of Seonghwa and flops onto his back. His cock is shiny with lube and precum and he’s so hard it’s almost painful. He grins up at Wooyoung when he straddles him, leaning down to kiss him. It’s softer this time. Wooyoung presses against him, chest to chest, and kisses him so thoroughly he’s dizzy from it. 

Seonghwa’s hand brushes against his on the bed. He curls their index fingers together and pants into Wooyoung’s mouth. 

“I love you,” Wooyoung pants against his lips. 

He props himself on his knees and sinks down on San’s cock. They’ve done this so many times San has lost count, but it feels different here, in the afterglow of Seonghwa. 

San groans, throwing his head back and gripping Seonghwa’s hand fully in his own. Wooyoung is delicious heat, his hands braced on San’s chest when he rolls his hips. 

“You’re so good for me,” Wooyoung pants, arching his back to get San deeper. “You looked perfect fucking our Seonghwa.”

San sucks in a breath, hips jerking against Wooyoung.

“Our?”

Wooyoung is quiet for a few moments as he fucks himself, eyes closed in pleasure. 

“We both know it’s true,” he says. He wraps his hand around his cock and strokes himself. “He’s yours, but he’s mine too. We already talked about it.”

 _Fuck._ San’s stomach goes hot and tight. He turns his head to see Seonghwa staring at them, eyes wide and lips parted. He’s gorgeous.

“Yeah?” San pants, canting his hips up. Wooyoung jerks forward and attaches his mouth to San’s neck. He moans and Seonghwa chews on his lip, adjusting their hands so he can squeeze back. 

“Ask him yourself,” Wooyoung murmurs against his skin. 

San shudders, heat searing through him. 

“You’re mine?” he asks.

“Yes,” Seonghwa says back right away. There is nothing hidden on his face, an openness that has San swearing under his breath. 

Wooyoung sits up and fucks him faster, his thumb pressing into the slit of his cock.

“And Wooyoung,” San pants, “You’re his? You’re ours?”

Seonghwa moves closer, untangles their hands and fits San’s fingers over the mark on his neck. It’s warm under his touch. 

“Only if you’re both mine,” he says. He presses San’s fingers tighter against his neck, like San could pull the mark right out of his skin and replace it with another.

Wooyoung moans above him and San looks back in time to see the flush darkening across his chest, the light sheen of sweat covering his skin. 

“Wooyoung,” San says. “I want to see you let go.”

Seonghwa leans over and bats Wooyoung’s hand away from his cock, replacing it with his own. Wooyoung swears under his breath and works his hips faster, chasing the slide of Seonghwa’s hand. Pleasure coils so tight inside of San he feels like he’s going to break apart.

San plants his feet on the bed and slams up into Wooyoung. He moans, loud and open and desperate. It doesn’t take much longer. San fucks into him faster and Seonghwa rubs his thumb just under the head of his cock and Wooyoung comes between them, sinking blunt nails into San’s chest. 

He stares at the pleasure on Wooyoung’s face, the slick slide of Seonghwa’s hand on him, and by the time Wooyoung stops shaking above him he’s coming too, vision turning to static as he spills inside of him. 

Seonghwa pulls his hand away and Wooyoung collapses on San’s chest. They’re both breathing hard, sweaty and covered in come but San can’t stop smiling. It feels like the weight of the world is gone, even if only for a moment.

“I love you,” he says into Wooyoung’s hair. Wooyoung presses a kiss to his neck in answer.

They come down together. Seonghwa moves to the far side of the bed and lays on his back, arms tucked behind his head. Wooyoung eases off San and rolls over onto his side. Like this he’s in the middle, Seonghwa on his right, San on the left. It’s exactly where he should be, where Wooyoung has been since the first night Seonghwa ended up in his apartment. 

He wants to ask, what now? Wooyoung isn’t reaching for Seonghwa in that clingy way he gets after the two of them make love. This is sex, and maybe some day that will be different. Seonghwa is quiet on the other side of the bed. San wants to kiss him. It still feels like he’s not supposed to want it.

“I’m exhausted,” Wooyoung says, breathless.

“You should clean up before you fall asleep,” San says, rolling over and pressing his body against him.

“I’m not taking a shower,” Wooyoung whines. “You’re asking too much of me, Choi San.”

San sighs. “Fine.” He puts his hand on his own chest and chants and just like that the three of them are clean. “Now you don’t have to worry about it.”

Seonghwa finally sits up. He stares down at the two of them.

“I’ll go,” he says. He moves his legs to the edge of the bed. Wooyoung and San reach out for him at the same time. Seonghwa stares at the place their hands touch his arm. 

“Stay,” Wooyoung says. “Please.”

“Only if you want,” San says. 

Seonghwa is quiet. When he looks at San there’s a glint in his eyes, something almost mischievous. 

“Okay,” he says. 

And then he’s a cat under their palms. He pointedly walks to the end of the bed and curls up where San’s feet will be, staring at the two of them with bright green eyes.

Wooyoung groans, rolling over to mirror San and burying his face in his shoulder. 

“Useless cat,” he murmurs. “As if he doesn’t know what we meant.”

San smiles into Wooyoung’s hair and moves his feet so they’re on either side of Seonghwa’s body. 

It’s enough. It’s more than enough.

  
  


🜍🜍🜍

Seonghwa starts taking jobs in the human world. It toes the line of legality much like their own work, but he’s not a killer. He swore a blood oath, after all. San trusts him. Like clockwork, Wooyoung goes to speak to Hongjoong the day after. Seonghwa and San share a smile at his expense. Wooyoung rolls his eyes with a fondness that betrays him.

Hongjoong, always about profit, takes Wooyoung back even though he has no family name to speak of anymore. His achievements at the company haven’t been wiped away, even if some of his personal information is fuzzy. The details of where he’s been for the past year are murky, too, but Hongjoong knows better than to push. With both of them at work again things feel a little more normal. 

  
  
  


“What was it like?” San finally asks him one night when it’s just the two of them. “How did you even get there?”

Wooyoung turns to face him in their bed. “I don’t know. A combination of our magic, maybe. I was casting to break my fall. Or I might have truly died.”

The words send a chill through San’s entire body. 

“My hands have never been so bloody,” Wooyoung continues, his voice softer now. “Once I had power from the holy artifact I killed so many of them. Demons, ghosts. They were all witches once.”

San reaches out and smooths a hand across his cheek. “You did what you had to do to survive. Anyone would do the same.” He laughs under his breath. “Everyone in this _house_ has done the same.”

Wooyoung spends a long time telling him about it. Every bloody detail. He’s shaking by the end. San pulls him in close until there is nowhere for him to go, holds him until it stops. 

“I would love you no matter what,” San whispers next to his ear. “I would love you even if you hated me. Even if you killed me.”

Wooyoung kisses him, slow but hungry. They always hunger for each other, never satisfied. He rolls them so San is flat on his back.

“One death between us is more than enough,” Wooyoung says.

San shares his agreement by fitting their mouths together.

  
  
  


Wooyoung takes missions and San spends those nights pacing the kitchen until Seonghwa walks in and pulls him against his chest, pressing kisses to the top of his head. He focuses on breathing, on reminding himself that Wooyoung has always come back to him.

By the time Wooyoung comes home, perfectly fine except a bruise on his hand, San is blinking up at him on the couch, Seonghwa’s small black body curled up on his chest. 

Seonghwa walks to the arm of the couch just as San sits bolt upright. 

“You’re back,” San says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

“I’m back.”

He scrambles around the couch and takes a minute to drink him in. His dark hair and his dark clothes and the purpling bruise on his skin. San hugs Wooyoung so tightly he fakes a wheeze.

“I missed you too. Not so tight,” he says around a laugh. 

San loosens his grip and steps back. He fights the desire to undress him right here, to check him all over and kiss every part of him better. Wooyoung can take care of himself. San knew that before he ever fought his way out of the Underworld. It’s just better to see him, to feel him. To know he’s really here.

Seonghwa stands on the back of the couch, green eyes on both of them. They’re close enough to him that Seonghwa is able to headbutt Wooyoung’s side, rub the length of his body across him. 

“He was worried, too,” San says. 

Seonghwa’s ears twitch. Wooyoung laughs again. 

“Sure, sure.” He laces their fingers together. “Let’s go to bed.”

They walk off toward the bedroom and Wooyoung looks back to Seonghwa.

“Aren’t you coming?” he asks. 

Seonghwa chirrups and hops off the couch, following them into the bedroom.

  
  


Time passes. The seasons change all over again. San comes home to find Wooyoung and Seonghwa arguing over dinner while something burns in the oven. 

“If you hadn’t intervened this would be fine,” Seonghwa grits out.

“You’re terrible at this,” Wooyoung snaps back. “Useless cat. If you had just let me handle this —”

“Who do you think fed me my entire life?” San makes it to the doorway in time to see Seonghwa back Wooyoung against the counter. “I’m far from useless. In any situation.”

Wooyoung bares his teeth and Seonghwa’s eyes catch in the light, flashing. 

San clears his throat and the two of them turn to look at him. Seonghwa’s hair is freshly colored, a light ash blonde. He looks beautiful. San walks to the oven and pulls the burning...whatever it was originally, out. It’s easy to cast a quick spell, to reset the food to its precooked state. The two of them could have done the same thing, but the truth is they like these little arguments. 

San locks eyes with the two of them. 

“I think you should apologize.” They open their mouths to say something but he doesn’t give them the chance. “I expect you to kiss and make up.”

So they do.

  
  
  


Even as his Familiar, Seonghwa can’t be freed from his brand. It feels heavy to tell him once San knows for sure.

“I’m sorry,” San says, squeezing his hand. 

Seonghwa shakes his head. “Don’t be.”

Sometimes Seonghwa spends days at a time as a cat. He used to be the most affectionate like that, harmless black cat falling asleep on San’s lap or rubbing against his hand at every opportunity. Now he pulls San into his lap in the kitchen and kisses him, soft and slow and easy.

“I used to think that a Coven was what I was missing,” Seonghwa says when they break apart. There’s a slight pink to his cheeks. “It turns out it’s not the Coven at all.”

“You needed Wooyoung and I to put you in your place?” San asks with a grin. 

“Yes, of course,” Seonghwa says. He rolls his eyes, but he can’t cover up the warmth in his chest, the feelings that bleed over into San. “The two of you teaming up to torment me every day was just what I needed.”

San presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then a proper one to his lips. They melt into each other, kissing until San pulls back, breathless, at the sound of keys outside their door.

Wooyoung walks into the kitchen and sighs when he sees the state they’re both in. Seonghwa’s flushed face, San’s shirt half off. 

“You can’t keep your hands off each other for five minutes,” Wooyoung says.

Seonghwa wrinkles his nose. San falls against his shoulder, laughing so hard his shoulders shake.

How could a Coven ever compare to this?

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/woncheoling) // [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/tsukkitaeil)


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